


daring, nerve, chivalry

by kormantic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Yuletide 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/kormantic
Summary: Amy is determined to brew Heart's Desire. Jo has a solution.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: New Year's Resolutions 2020





	daring, nerve, chivalry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SingerQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingerQueen/gifts).



Steady, temperate Meg was of course sorted into Hufflepuff. No one was surprised that Jo was Gryffindor through and through. Beth’s Ravenclaw status was attributed to her dedication to studying and arranging music. That Amy was a Slytherin was entirely appropriate, to Jo’s mind. No creature she knew commanded more ambition (except, she reflected, she herself). She’d had to lick a few second years who thought they could speak snidely of the March family’s latest ‘black sheep’, and she had Teddy to keep the older boys in line. Not one of them should dare say that Amy's being a Slytherin only went to show that the once-proud line of March had fallen from grace, thanks to the only son having married a Muggle. 

“It’s all classist pap, and misogynistic besides,” insisted Jo. They were in the Common Hall Gameroom, and she was on the rug by the fire, with her much-mended broom in her lap, plucking broken twigs from the brush and pitching them into the flames. “If you were a boy, no one would have said anything about it.”

Meg was seated on the pleasantly squashy pink velveteen couch next to Amy, arranging her sister’s golden curls into a little wreath around her head. Beth nestled at Amy’s other side, working an embroidery hoop with green and silver thread: _ambition, talent, design_. She had fashioned a little bracelet like it, with clever charmwork, for each of her sisters. Meg’s was black and yellow, and read _truth, patience, loyalty_. It was spelled to keep Meg’s hair tidy: unswayed by wayward breezes, untouched by any mist that would dare to frizz Meg’s smooth, dark waves. Amy’s would have the same spell, she’d decided. Her own, blue and gray, listed Ravenclaw virtues: _knowledge, wit, invention_. She had not thought to charm it at all. And around Jo’s wrist in red and gold: _daring, nerve, chivalry_. Beth had charmed it to remind Jo to leave for classes in the morning – and also to snuff any candles nearby if the bracelet deemed that she’d been awake far too late into the evening.

“It’s John Brooke,” smiled Meg. She waved at him as he crossed the room and he blushed and gave her a solemn nod in return. He did not, Jo noted, stop walking. A coward then; he would never be worthy of her sister.

“I think it’s loathsome when prefects couple up. You’ll be head girl next year, and then you’ll be even more insufferable,” Jo groused.

Meg rolled her eyes sedately, but Amy came to her sister’s defense.

“I think he’s perfectly sweet. I approve of any boy with a handsome nose and apserations.”

“Aspirations,” Jo corrected absently. “I think a boy needs more than a handsome nose and high hopes.”

“Laurie has both, and he’s already rich, which I find very convenient,” Amy said.

“You would,” said Jo.

“Wouldn’t it be fine if we could all find out who we’ll marry when we grow up? I myself don’t care for suspense.”

“There’s no need for suspense, darling. You’re only just twelve,” Meg said, tweaking one of the artful tendrils she’d left out of Amy’s braid.

“And besides, you’re the sort to forge your own future,” added Jo.

“Even so,” Amy said with an air of speculation. “Did you know that Kitty Bryant says that Professor Bhaer was at Durmstrang last year?”

“He was,” confirmed Meg, now braiding a lock of her own hair meditatively. “But he was a student then.”

“I heard that he can brew Heart’s Desire,” Amy whispered.

“Heart’s Desire?” asked Beth. “Is that…” Beth glanced around and lowered her own voice, “Alcohol?”

“No, silly! It’s a potion that shows you your soulmate in a dream after you drink it.”

“That sounds nice,” said Beth, although she didn’t sound as if she really did think it was.

“A lot of claptrap and hooey, that is. Soulmates aren’t born, they’re made. Like two rough gems that tumble together in adversity until you both shine.”

“That is quite shockingly romantic, coming from you,” remarked Meg, who did truly look surprised.

“It doesn’t have to be romantic, you know,” said Jo with some asperity. She hoped the firelight would hide her hot cheeks. “If Teddy isn’t my soulmate, then I don’t know who is, and I wouldn’t kiss him if you gave me the Hogwart’s Cup. You can love someone and not want to kiss them all the time.”

“I expect so,” Meg said thoughtfully. 

“I do think he’s your soulmate, too, though Jo, really I do,” said Beth stoutly.

Jo gave her a smile and squeezed her little slippered foot.

“Well, I like to plan ahead,” said Amy. “And I think I will do better to know who I’ll be pairing off with once I’m out of school.”

“Ambition is all well and good,” Jo pointed out, “but you are positively _terrible_ at brewing potions. Why, remember when you tried to brew a draft of Baby’s Breath and instead of a spray of flowers, it was a lumpy old foot cast in plaster?”

“Jo,” admonished Meg. “She’s only a first year. No one’s perfect just out of the gate.”

“Trust you to only remember all my failures. I will never get better without practice, and in order to practice properly I will need instruction, and that means I’ll need to ask Professor Bhaer for his help,” said Amy, sounding resolved.

“Merlin save that gentleman from you and your _plans_ ,” Jo remarked.

  
*

As it happened, Merlin did not save Professor Bhaer from Amy’s plans. No, indeed, that job fell to an increasingly aggravated Jo.

Professor Bhaer, who must have been some sort of miraculous genius at potions to become Master at Hogwarts while barely out of school himself, was, to Jo’s dismay, a dismal soft touch when it came to determined young ladies demanding private instruction.

While he had so far put off Amy from actually _brewing_ Heart’s Desire, which he had at first insisted was merely folklore, and then declared inappropriate for anyone still in school, and then noting that its components were all but impossible to find, he had apparently come to the end of his resources. 

In the meantime, Amy’s potions work did improve – but her implacable will would not be dissuaded.

One afternoon, eating apple pastries under a tree outside in the late golden light of October, Jo drew the line.

“Amy, you’re at the man the way a cat harries a mouse. He looks white around the eyes whenever he sees you in the hall. You have got to give up this ridiculous idea, or I will have to write to Marmee,” said Jo firmly.

Meg gave Amy a sympathetic look, but did not contradict Jo’s order.

“I _won’t!_ ” said Amy, throwing a last bite of sticky, fragrant pie crust at Jo, but casting wide and hitting a hapless Hufflepuff, who happened to be sitting nearby, in the shoulder. “I will brew that potion and I will do it no matter who says I shouldn’t!”

“You know, Amy,” Beth tried, “That tall girl in my dormitory, Liatet Forshidge, is working on a potion that lets you mold your face just like clay. She’s not finalized it yet, but think of it! It would be a hundred times better than a clothespin on your nose.”

Amy looked interested despite herself, and let Beth talk her down while Jo and Meg shared a look of resolve – something would have to be done.

*

Jo awaited her prey in the doorway of the Teacher’s Entrance to the Dining Hall.

“Professor Bhaer, may I have a moment of your time?”

It was to his credit, Jo decided, that he immediately smiled and nodded, stopping beside her. A quick and sincere willingness to stop and help a student, especially on the way to dinner, was certainly an excellent quality in a Professor. He was broad, with strong-looking shoulders and big hands. His dark eyes were soft and bright, and crinkled when he smiled, as though he was much older. As it was the evening meal, his jaw was shadowed with the beginning of a crop of stubble, and his hair was a windblown tumble above his heavy, dark brows.

He somehow was and wasn’t handsome at once; perhaps plain-faced, but appealing nonetheless. She wondered if he was the sort who would have to field a lot of lovenotes from they type who sighed over “dreamy” people. She thought it likely.

“I need to ask you for a favor,” she said, preferring not to hem and haw over anything. 

“Of course,” he said. “How may I help?”

“I think you know my sister, Amy March?”

For a moment, the gentleman looked positively hunted, but then he smoothed his face and inclined his head.

“Well, then you know she is absolutely committed to brewing Heart’s Desire.”

“She does seem… dedicated to that end, yes,” Professor Bhaer admitted.

“To be frank, sir, I am afraid she’ll do herself a mischief if she’s left on her own with her goals… unmet.”

Professor Bhaer bit his lip. 

“I think I must agree with you. How then, should we proceed? As her sister, I am sure you know best.”

Jo was unprepared for the way Professor Bhaer had so readily deferred to her assessment, the way he seemed so intent upon her advice. She felt her cheeks redden for no good reason.

“I believe that in order to get this nonsense to stop, we will have to give her what she wants.”

“Beg pardon?” His eyes widened.

“You are familiar, I think, with the Placebo affect? I think we should give Amy the ingredients and instructions to brew a Dream Draft… but you must tell her that it is, in fact, Heart’s Desire.”

For a long moment, Professor Bhaer did not speak.

“I do not like to lie to a student,” he said at last.

“I admire that sentiment, sir, truly. But in this case, knowing Amy as I do…”

He nodded slightly.

“Needs must, as Professor Caraway is so fond of saying,” said Professor Bhaer, eyes smiling.

Jo’s cheeks flamed hotter still.

“Needs must,” Jo affirmed.

*

Amy, who was at heart a generous child, brought a tiny porcelain cup of “Heart’s Desire” to each of her sisters on a dainty little tray she had painted herself.

“I thought we should all find out together,” she said cheerily, well-contented now that Professor Bhaer had happened to come into a small trove of Klissada Root, as well as several wisps of Unicorn Breath.

Beth looked anxious, and Jo and Meg merely shared a look, letting suppressed laughter light their smiles.

*

“What did you dream?” demanded Amy, the next afternoon. “Bethy, you go first.” 

“I was at the shore with all of you, Jo you had a sunburn on your nose and such freckles! And music. Faint and familiar, and sweet, but so far away you could hardly hear it.”

“That sounds quite trascandental,” Amy pronounced.

“Yes, I agree, transcendental is just the word,” said Meg kindly.

“And you, Meg?” Beth prompted.

“I dreamt of a little house, cozy and trim, with a stream running beside it.”

“How pretty!” said Beth. “Now you, Jo!”

Jo hesitated.

“I think I dreamt I had a puppy,” she said at last. “How about you, Miss Amy?”

For a moment, Amy looked troubled.

“I didn’t think everything would be so… metaphorical, somehow. I thought there’d be… a portrait, with a name beneath it, so you could be sure.”

“What _did_ you dream, then?” Meg asked.

“I dreamt about that little toy bear Marmee made me when I was a baby.”

“Was that a bear?” asked Jo. “I always thought it was a cat.”

“Well, I always thought _you_ were a cat,” snapped Amy.

“Oh, Amy,” said Meg, putting her arm around her sister. “I know you must be disappointed. You worked so hard to get that Heart’s Desire. And I’m very proud of you, by the way. You brewed an excellent potion. Professor Bhaer himself couldn’t have done better, I’m sure.” And she kissed the top of Amy’s head. 

Beth kissed Amy’s cheek and took her hand.

“You’ll be a professor here too one day, if you put your mind to it.”

Jo, who had dreamt of a sense of closeness and trust, of having someone’s every confidence, a feeling of being settled peaceably somewhere snug and warm, an impression of devotion and animal comfort, threw her arms around all her sisters and said, “If anyone could brew a potion fashioned out of pure will, our Amy would be the girl to do it.”

Amy wiggled for a moment, pretending she was too grown up to be caressed so, but leaned her temple against Jo’s and said, “Yes, but I don’t know that I’m the _only_ one who could."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this cozy bit of fluff. It is perhaps only soulmate AU adjacent, but I hope you'll like it anyway.


End file.
